Certain Advantages
by probablyquantum
Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash! COMPLETE. Humor/Romance/Hurt-Comfort.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash!

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did.

**Certain Advantages**

Shore leave. _Finally_. Jim had been promising the crew a vacation for ages, but they'd kept getting interrupted by one galactic emergency after another.

"Mr. Sulu, plot a course for Mycroft VII."

"Again, Captain?"

"Yeah. But this time we're not taking any detours. This has got to be our billionth attempt, so if our communications officer receives any transmissions from Starfleet, I wouldn't mind experiencing some kind of malfunction with our system."

Uhura pursed her lips in an attempt not to smile. "I'll see what I can do, sir."

"To be precise, Captain, this marks merely our fifth attempt. It has been three hundred and seven point two hours since our first route to Mycroft VII was plotted."

"Five, a billion, same difference."

Spock gave him _that_ look. The one Spock always gave when he disapproved.

"I mean, thank you, Mr. Spock, for your helpful precision."

Jim was rewarded with a raised eyebrow.

* * *

To his utter surprise, their shore leave destination loomed into sight without any complications, distress calls, diplomatic missions, looming wars, or accidental time travel of any kind.

And God, was that planet hot. Not hot like Vulcan (or New Vulcan, either). It was the opposite of Vulcan. It was a Mecca of sex.

He beamed down with Bones, Scotty, Chekov, and Sulu and found himself in the midst of a 24-7 rave. Loud, abrasive, alien music pulsed through him and immediately enticed him onto the dance floor.

"Keptin," Chekov said in his ear as they wound their way through the diverse crowd. "Uhura is telling me that the native Mycrovians are telepaths. They are knowing you are being interested in them from a distance."

"Awesome."

"They're supposed to be distant relations to the goddamn Vulcans, if you can believe it," Bones complained. "Can you imagine that green-blooded hobgoblin bein' cousins with some of these ladies?"

"_Fucking_ awesome."

"Aye!" Scotty yelled into his ear, unnecessarily loud. "And they're great in bed! Ye can't find a better lay in all the galaxy! Keenser says they come highly recommended, Captain!"

"Uh, not awesome." Jim grimaced and tried not to think about Keenser having sex. Too late, he decided.

He turned around and soon found himself dancing cheek to cheek with one such Mycrovian: a nubile female humanoid with the cutest eyebrow ridges and the perkiest pointed ears he'd ever seen. She _would_ look a little like a Vulcan if she didn't have that lascivious smile on her face. He gave her his most charming grin.

She wrapped one arm around his neck and gestured to someone in the distance. He looked past her beckoning hand and saw two Mycrovian males approaching. They were thin, dark-haired beauties in their own right, and Jim was delighted to find himself a member of an impromptu harem. One of the men was slightly taller and had some sort of funky alien tattoos on his arms. He replaced the female and put his hands on Jim's grinding hips.

_Okay,_ he thought, _apparently this guy's in charge._

His new dance partner grinned like he knew what Jim was thinking. And he probably did, Jim realized.

Jim wrapped himself around the man and kissed him. The alien tasted spicy and dangerous as their tongues explored each other. He felt the female and other male groping him as they danced as a unit.

All was going well until the man broke the kiss and gave a startled glance behind Jim's shoulder. His eyes had a strange, excited glint to them.

Jim turned to see what had distracted his dance partner. He barked a laugh when he saw Spock standing in the doorway. The Vulcan was the only person not gyrating to the music; he looked even more robotic than usual as he calmly surveyed the scene.

"That is an unbonded Vulcan," said the alien man.

"Wha? Spock? Yeah, he's a Vulcan. What d'y'mean, unbonded? He's got a girlfriend, if that's what you're getting at."

"According to him, not for the past sixty-seven point nine hours."

"Huh? Really? I hate being the last one to know these things. You seem . . . really happy about that . . ." The alien seemed downright delighted. Their foursome had stopped dancing and turned to stare at Spock as he approached, stoically stepping around some frenetic dancers.

Spock's eyes also had a bright glint to them. They were talking to each other, Jim realized. "He's probably just looking for me. I bet there's an intelligent virus loose on the ship or something. The same thing happened last week."

But the man shook his head. "No. Your Mr. Spock is here to enjoy himself."

"Yeah, I don't think so. Really. You've got the wrong guy."

By this time, Spock had reached them. If Jim hadn't known better, he could have sworn there was a ghost of a smile on his First Officer's lips.

"Don't be so hasty in your judgment, James Kirk," the man said. Jim didn't bother to mention that he'd never actually introduced himself. "There are certain advantages to being with a touch telepath. I hear Vulcans are _animals_ in bed."

The alien left Jim's side and insinuated himself in Spock's personal space. Jim braced for some kind of rebuff from Spock, but none came. His mouth hung open as Spock's hands went up the alien's shirt and caressed the man's back.

"The trick is finding an unbonded one. They're rare, these days."

Because of Nero, Jim added silently. "Uh, Spock, if that guy's bothering you . . ."

"I am fine, Captain, thank you."

And they started _kissing_. _Passionately_. Jim stood there dumbstruck until he felt a familiar arm slung across his shoulders. "Hey, Bones."

"Jim, I think you've just been cock-blocked by a Vulcan."

"Uh. Yeah."

Spock pulled away from the alien long enough to fix Jim with his best blank expression. "Forgive the intrusion, Captain. In the spirit of sharing, I admit that Vulcans are not comfortable experiencing intimate relations with groups. Therefore, you can have the other two."

The Mycrovian laughed and pulled Spock toward the exit. Spock followed obediently.

"Well, I'll be damned," Bones mused. "Spock's on one hell of a rebound."

"Yeah. Why did I not know about that, by the way? And Bones . . . he's really hot."

"There'll be other Mycrovians, Jim. Don't let that green-blooded hobgoblin spoil your vacation."

"I wasn't talking about the Mycrovian."

Bones looked from Jim to the doorway, where Spock and the alien had paused for some necking. Jim felt his body heat up at the sight of his First Officer clawing at the Mycrovian's back. His hair, which was usually impeccably tidy, was tousled. His face was greener than usual.

"I _have_ to have him."

Bones managed a fairly good impression of Spock's eyebrows. "Nothing good is ever gonna come of that, Jim. Nothing good at all."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **

Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash; Spock/Random!Guy.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did.

Warnings: Slash.

Genre: Lust/Romance/Humor. The rest of the fic is a little more serious than Chapter 1 because now there is a plot.

OOO*OOO* OOO*OOO* OOO*OOO* OOO*OOO* OOO*OOO

**Certain Advantages**

**Chapter Two**

As could be expected, Jim awoke the next morning tangled in sheets between the male and female Mycrovians he'd met on the dance floor. They were both still asleep; the female's arm was draped soothing over his chest, and the male's hand was still loosely wrapped around Jim's waist. He almost hated to disturb them, but gently he extracted himself from the situation.

The female moaned a little in protest so he amused himself by placing the male's groping hand on the female's right breast. He grinned when the two shifted closer in their sleep and began to cuddle.

Satisfied that he'd made his hosts happy, he retrieved his black shorts from a pile of strangers' clothes and silently dressed. He took in his surroundings for the first time and was happy to see that he was in a swanky penthouse apartment near the dance club. He helped himself to a snack from the kitchen—some kind of red fruit that surprised him by being spicy instead of sweet—and headed down through the lobby and out into the midmorning sunshine.

He shook his head in wonder when he realized that he could still hear the strange dance music coming from the unassuming door on the other side of the courtyard. A different set of people were milling around the entrance. Apparently the party was still going strong. He wondered when they ever had time to clean the place.

There was no sign of anyone from Starfleet, so he strolled down to the beach, thinking he'd go for a swim instead of finding some place to take a shower. The water was cold, but afterward he warmed himself in the sun as he waiting patiently for his shorts to dry. The fabric was still clinging to his thighs when he looked up into a pair of annoyed Human eyes.

"Jim, put your goddamn clothes on. I'm not even going to ask if you used sunblock."

"Bones." Jim shook his head and tried to focus on the doctor, who had come up from behind him.

"Come on, I booked us a room and had Nurse Chapel beam us down a fresh change of clothes."

"Kay."

"You seen Spock today?"

Jim shook his head as he got dressed for the second time that day. "I was kinda hoping that was a weird, sex-induced dream."

"Nope. Chapel said he was acting weird all yesterday, too."

"He hasn't been replaced with a robot or anything, has he?"

Bones gave him a long-suffering look. "There wouldn't be much difference if that were the case. Apparently he was rude to her."

"Rude? Rude how?"

"Threw a bowl of plomeek soup at her. Yelled, too."

"Must have been pretty terrible soup."

Bones grimaced. "She made it from scratch because she noticed he hadn't been eating."

"Huh. That's kinda romantic. I guess she's not his type?"

* * *

He and Bones were on their way to the hotel when they saw Spock. The Vulcan was standing ramrod straight on the entryway, talking to the same alien from last night.

Tattoo Guy—so dubbed because something vicious inside Jim made him feel uncharitable—was standing next to Spock, but his posture wasn't as rigid. And sure, he wasn't touching Spock at all, but Jim could tell from the way his eyes focused on Spock's lips as the Vulcan spoke that Tattoo Guy _wanted_ to touch him. And Spock didn't look like he would necessarily mind if that happened.

"Morning, Spock. Morning, Tattoo Guy."

The Mycrovian's smile didn't reach his eyes. "James Kirk. Leonard McCoy. My name is T'San."

"Nice to meet you. Look, I gotta talk to Spock."

Spock raised his eyebrows in anticipation. Jim gave Tattoo Guy his sweetest fake smile. "In private."

The Mycrovian nodded and held his hand out toward Spock, the index and middle fingers extended. Spock mirrored the gesture, and their hands briefly touched before the Mycrovian walked away. Bones shifted his weight to one side and crossed his arms, obviously trying to restrain himself from saying something.

Spock watched his companion for a few moments before turning back to Jim. "What is it you wish to discuss, Captain?"

"What is it I . . . ? Don't play dumb with me, Spock. Just last week you were going on about how Vulcans don't need vacations and wouldn't be caught dead planetside during shore leave even if we ever _did_ manage to get here, and yesterday you're sticking your tongue down some random guy's throat. Oh, and three days ago you broke up with Uhura and didn't tell me. So spill it."

"I will, of course, ignore your inaccurate figure of speech and assume you desire an explanation."

"That's what I said."

"Not to mention that now you're all prim and proper—was that how Vulcans kiss, Spock?" Bones demanded.

Spock ignored the doctor and addressed Jim. "Am I to understand that you disapprove of my actions after you recommended multiple times that I join you during shore leave?"

"I . . . no. I don't disapprove. Wait, Bones, what's a Vulcan kiss? The thing with their hands?"

Bones nodded, but Spock did not give him a chance to speak. "Do you in any way believe that my actions have compromised my performance as First Officer?"

"Well, no . . . ."

"Then I must ask you, Captain, to respect the fact that my actions last night were a personal matter."

Jim blinked. "Oh, come _on_. You can't just hook up with Tattoo Guy and not expect me to be curious."

"His name is T'San, and while your curiosity is anticipated, it is simply not welcome. Good day, Captain. Doctor."

Spock tried to retreat up the stairs, but Jim grabbed his arm. "Uh uh. There's something wrong with you, so you're going to sickbay. That's an order. Back me up here, Bones."

"Probably not a bad idea, Spock."

"On the contrary, Doctor, I am feeling quite well."

Jim snorted. "I'm sure that's Tattoo Guy's specialty."

"Captain, please unhand me, or I shall be required to use force."

"Fuck that. Now you're being insubordinate, which probably means you've been infected with a space virus or something even worse. Sickbay. Now."

"Jim's right," Bones added. "Chapel's worried about you, too, so at least let me take a look at you."

Spock leveled a long-suffering glare at Jim and pulled his arm away. Jim wasn't strong enough to resist, but at least his First Officer remained where he was.

"Captain, if I convince you that I am not ill, will you allow me some privacy for the remainder of shore leave?"

Jim relaxed. "Yeah. Okay. But I've gotta be convinced."

The skin around Spock's eyes tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn't say anything.

"Well?" Jim asked.

"Captain. Jim."

"Spock." Jim tried not to look as impatient as he felt, but he knew he was failing miserably when Spock's expression softened fondly.

"Vulcans . . . do not discuss this with outworlders."

"Outworlders? Come on, Spock, I thought we were friends."

Spock hesitated.

"Oh, hell, I'll leave if you want, Spock." Bones turned to go.

"Wait, Doctor. I would prefer you stay. You are both my friends."

Bones looked slightly mollified. Spock looked from one man to the other and finally decided to focus on a point in the distance. "It is a matter of . . . Vulcan biology."

"What about Vulcan biology?" Bones asked.

"He means sex," Jim said helpfully.

Bones frowned. "He doesn't mean sex, Jim. He's a Vulcan, for God's sake."

"A Vulcan who got lucky last night. Tell him you mean sex, Spock."

Spock gave the smallest and most reluctant of nods.

"See? I win."

Bones frowned even more. When he spoke, though, his voice was lower, as if to give Spock some privacy in an otherwise public place. "Fine. So what's going on?"

Spock still did not answer.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Spock," Jim said. "It happens to the birds and bees."

"The birds and the bees are not Vulcans, Captain." Jim was about to argue, but then decided to remain quiet. "If they were," Spock continued (and Jim could have sworn that Spock was slightly greener than normal), "if any creatures as proudly logical as us were to have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us . . ."

"Wait, 'this time'?"

"How do Vulcan's choose their mates, Captain? Haven't you wondered?"

"Um." Jim looked to Bones, who looked equally at a loss. "I guess the rest of us assume that it's done . . . you know. Logically."

"No."

"No?"

"It is not. We shield it with a ritual and customs shrouded in antiquity. It strips our minds from us. It brings a madness which rips away our veneer of civilization. It is the Pon Farr—the time of mating."

Jim marshaled every ounce of self-control he had so that he wouldn't giggle. He failed. "I'm sorry. Sorry. Did you really just say the word 'mating'?"

Bones glared. "Shut it, Jim. Even _I'm_ more sensitive _that_."

"I know, I know. Go on, Spock."

Spock has steeled his face into an impassive Vulcan mask, which made Jim feel guilty. "There are precedents in nature, Captain; the giant eel-birds of Regulus Five, once each eleven years, must return to the caverns where they were hatched. On your Earth, the salmon must return to that one stream where they were born to spawn. Or die in trying."

"Yeah, but you're not a fish, Spock. If you haven't noticed."

"No, nor am I Human. I am a Vulcan. I'd hoped I would be spared this, given my mixed heritage, but the ancient drives were too strong. A few days ago, it caught up with me, but later than anticipated. Normally, every seven years upon reaching maturity, Vulcan males are driven home to take a mate. Or they die."

"Die?" Bones looked murderous. "You should've come to me, damn you."

"There was nothing, medically, to be done."

"So . . . you just needed to have sex? And no more throwing bowls of soup at nurses? Problem solved?" Jim deflated when he realized that the crisis was over before he'd known it existed. "Why didn't you just go to Uhura?"

Spock's back stiffened even more, which shouldn't have been possible in Jim's book. "When I proposed the ritual, Nyota declined."

Jim gaped. "Wait, she was just gonna let you die?"

"Of course not. I did not tell her of the Pon Farr's fatal consequence."

"But . . . why not? I mean, even if she wasn't in the mood, she'd have done it. You'd rather have sex with a stranger than tell your girlfriend you're dying?"

"The solution to the madness of Pon Farr is not just sex, Captain." Jim was certain now that Spock was blushing. "It requires a permanent telepathic bond between the participants. It is the bond that we create when we marry. Nyota did not consider our relationship suitable for such a step. I would not force a marriage on her out of guilt."

" . . . Fuck." Jim didn't know what to do, so he clapped Spock on the back. "I'm sorry."

"It is of no consequence. The matter has been resolved satisfactorily."

Bones shook his head. "So what you're trying to say is you just got yourself hitched to a complete stranger?"

"Although you did not intend such linguistic precision, Doctor, the term 'hitched' is apt under the circumstance. Although we did not complete the traditional rituals, T'San is my bondmate."

Jim felt an inexplicable sense of panic at that thought. "Wait. Married? Bondmate? We could've taken you back to New Vulcan. We could've found . . . I don't know . . . another way . . ."

"New Vulcan is too far from our current location, Captain. I would have perished in transit. Besides, I find T'San an agreeable mate."

"You've _just met him_, Spock!" Bones and Spock were staring at him like he'd grown a third eye or sprouted horns.

"Indeed, we met last night. We have since had time to become adequately acquainted, however, during a mind meld."

"A mind meld. Right." Jim nodded, but he felt numb. He suppressed the memories of older Spock's hands on his face, giving him unexpected and unwanted emotions. He forced a smile. "Well, I'm happy for you. Congratulations. Bones, let's go. Now."

"Yeah, maybe's that's for the best." Bones took Jim by the arm, but they were interrupted by a shout from behind them.

"Wait! Please!"

Jim spun around and saw Tattoo Guy jogging toward them, his hands raised in a pleading gesture. He reached them in a few swift strides and rested one arm around Spock's shoulders. Jim gritted his teeth when Spock looked at his bondmate with a worried, intimate glance.

"Please, you are Starfleet officers. I need your help."

"What has happened?" Spock asked, his voice pitched lower and more earnest than Jim had ever heard it.

"It is my brother. Please, James Kirk. I need your help, or he will die."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **

Sorry for the delay. Life, and trial prep, went all crazy for a couple weeks.

Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash; Spock/Random!Guy.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did.

Warnings: Slash. Obviously.

Genre: Romance/Humor/Adventure

* * *

**Certain Advantages**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Jim had precious few seconds to put on his game face. One deep breath in, and then he was Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise, ready for action and even diplomacy, if it came to that.

"Slow down and tell us what happened, T'San," he said, his voice full of authority he hadn't felt just a moment before.

The Mycrovian, still panting from his run, nodded and held onto Spock's arm for support. The man looked panicked. "My younger brother has gotten himself into trouble."

A knowing look settled into Spock's eyes. Jim allowed himself to watch the two one last time, talking to each other without words, before he was all business. "Okay. What kind of trouble?"

"D'Sul purchased a shipment of cordrazine for distribution on Mycroft VII. The sellers expected payment this morning, but he didn't have the money, so they took him. Now they want the money from me, or . . . or they'll kill him." The last words were whispered; the man's face had paled.

Bones was giving the man his deadliest glare. "Distribution, my ass. You're a drug dealer."

Neither Spock nor T'San seemed bothered by the accusation. Jim wished they'd just talk aloud like normal people. "D'Sul is a dealer. I am an investment banker." Jim snorted, forgetting to be professional, but T'San continued as if he hadn't heard. "The sellers are aware that I have money. That is why they have involved me, nothing more."

"And you want us to do what, exactly?" Jim asked. "Get your brother so you don't have to pay up?"

T'San shook his head. "I make a comfortable amount of money, but not what they are asking. If I had it, I would gladly give it to save D'Sul's life. We must fight them."

"Aren't there any police here? Let's go to them."

T'San looked discomfited. "Captain, the sellers _are_ the police."

Jim stared. "Of course they are. From now on, Scotty is _not_ picking our shore leave destination, especially if it's because of something Keenser recommended. Mr. Spock, a word?"

Jim led Spock to a quiet alcove not far from the steps. The Vulcan regarded him with a perfectly blank expression, but Jim knew him well enough to see that as a sign of distress. "What's got you worried?"

Spock did not question Jim's stab at mind-reading. He merely replied, "The worry I am experiencing is T'San's. His mood has affected mine."

"You don't seem very surprised by all this."

"Indeed, during our meld, T'San's connections to the black market for cordrazine became apparent."

"And you went through with it anyway?"

"Captain—Jim—I observe that my decision is causing you unhappiness. I regret that occurrence. But I had few available options, and it is no fault of T'San's character that a family member is a criminal."

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. So you want us to help this guy?"

Jim knew before he looked that Spock's eyes would register some kind of emotion. They nearly always did, but usually he was the only one who could tell. Right now, Spock's eyes darted from Jim's gaze to T'San, then back again, several times. "It is not within our mission parameters. I would ask this favor as a friend. Whatever you decide, I will aid him."

"Spock?" Jim stopped his friend as the Vulcan turned to go.

Spock paused and looked over his shoulder.

"What were you gonna do, just hook up with him seven years from now? I mean, what about him? He's kind of a slut, and I thought Vulcans were pretty monogamous."

"T'San is free to have whatever partners he desires. I make this concession to his species, which has different standards than mine."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I find the arrangement satisfactory, as I have said."

Jim didn't know what to say to that, so he stalked back to Bones and T'San, trying to focus on the hostage situation instead of weird alien sex problems.

* * *

"Okay, that all sounds great," Jim said, "but we're forgetting one thing. You're all telepaths. Aren't they gonna know there's not enough of the . . . what do you call your credits again?"

They had separated for an hour while Spock and T'San had gone to get "supplies"—what those could be, Kirk didn't know—and they'd reconvened to The four of them were sitting at a booth in a diner, deserted except for an elderly female with a "My Name Is Soran" nametag on her blouse. Occasionally, she would saunter over to their table and offer them more to drink.

"Our currency is called _mycra_, Captain. Unlike your credits, we have physical coins to represent them in addition to electronic transfer of funds. The smugglers prefer the physical currency because it is more difficult to trace."

"Figures. And the telepathy? I thought people here were natural eavesdroppers."

T'San smiled and pulled a small object from his inner ear. It was small and flesh-colored; it would be almost invisible unless you were looking for it. Kirk decided it looked like a hearing aid from the twenty-first century. "We have certain methods for hiding our thoughts. These are rare and expensive. The smugglers won't think to look for them."

Kirk looked to Spock for confirmation, but Spock's eyes were unreadable. Bones looked skeptical. It was time to trust the guy, Kirk supposed.

"Alright, then. You got more of those to go around?"

Spock pulled two more of the devices from below the table. "I am already wearing one," he said in response to Jim's confusion upon doing some simple math.

Spock pushed a small, concealed button on the side of one device and handed it to Jim. "For the next eight point nine seconds, concentrate on the information that you do not wish anyone to know. You will hear a soft beep, which indicates that the psy-blocker has received the necessary data."

Jim slid the small, cold pebble into his right ear and thought about the bag that wouldn't have enough money in it. As promised, a beep followed a few seconds later.

Spock continued his lesson as Bones did the same. "An observer will not be able to detect the unavailability of a single thought. It will appear as if your mind is as open as anyone else's."

"This is what you were buying just now?"

T'San shook his head. "I did not purchase these. They cost far in excess of the sum requested for my brother's life. I borrowed them from a rival smuggling gang."

Kirk blinked twice while deciding how to answer. "What'd you give him in return?"

To Kirk's surprise, Spock answered instead. "I assure you, Captain, that the deal T'San made will affect neither our current mission nor any of our crew."

T'San looked sideways at his bondmate, a grim expression on his face. "Let us simple say my brother will be working for a different supplier when he gets back."

"Some short leave," Bones grumbled. "You better be careful, Spock. Vulcans are looking damn near pleasant in comparison to these folks. I might start liking you."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Then I will endeavor to be more disagreeable than usual, Doctor."

* * *

After her four customers finally left, Soran picked up their measly tips and put a call through on the comm.

"What is it?" said an impatient, self-important male voice. "Oh, hi, Auntie Soran."

"You've got an appointment tonight. You'll want to check their bags." She paused for a moment to consider. "And their ears."

The problem with important people like starship captains and investment bankers, she decided as she cleared off the strangers' table, was that they never noticed the help.

* * *

Jim figured the rendezvous would be in a dark alley at night, but apparently crime on Mycroft VII happened in broad daylight because that's when most people were still hungover. At least it was still in an alley. He and Bones were standing a few paces behind Spock and T'San, waiting for the smugglers to arrive from the other end of the passageway.

They heard footsteps and quickly became very still.

Five Mycrovians entered the alley. The two in the back had their phasers pointed at a smaller man who looked almost identical to T'San. That would be D'Sul, Jim decided.

Jim cleared his mind of everything except the plan, which was simple: overpower the thugs before they counted the money. Those thoughts were carefully screened by the psy-blocker, but he couldn't help but notice that the leader's unhappy frown was _particularly_ unhappy, even for a drug smuggler who'd had to resort to desperate measures to get paid.

He was glad to have his phaser tucked behind his back, a fact that had also been carefully hidden from telepathic eavesdroppers.

Nothing should have gone wrong, but it did.

It happened quickly. Jim was never sure exactly what set them off. Maybe because the smugglers weren't expecting a Vulcan and two Humans.

The guy who held a phaser to D'Sul's head pulled the trigger, and his phaser was definitely _not_ set to stun. D'Sul went stiff and fell to the ground.

Jim sprang forward, phaser in hand, and jumped on the leader. A few shots and and well-placed right hooks later, the leader was down. Bones was on his left, straddling a guy he'd knocked unconscious.

Someone was roaring—almost growling—and Jim turned to see Spock knock the third man into the fourth, and both tumbled back against the stone walls with a sickening thud and a crack of bones.

At first, Jim thought the problem was D'Sul, who'd landed a few feet away and regarded Jim with blank, glassy eyes.

But then he saw Spock turn and half-stumble away from the men he'd attacked.

When Jim saw Spock's face, he got a sinking feeling of de ja vu.

Spock's composure had cracked just enough so that Jim could see he was in pain. Spock's mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were focused on something behind Jim.

Jim knew, without being a telepath or even turning around to see what was wrong, that T'San was gone.

He knew that because the look on Spock's face was exactly the same as it had been the day Vulcan was destroyed, when Spock had beamed back to the Enterprise without his mother.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **

**Here you go, some hurt/comfort to make up for the week's delay. There are probably two more chapters left to go.**

* * *

Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did.

Warnings: Slash. Obviously.

Genre: Romance/Humor/Hurt-Comfort

**

* * *

**

Certain Advantages

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Bones shook his head as he held two fingers against T'San's neck. "I'm sorry, Spock."

If Spock had been anyone else—Scotty, Sulu, Chekov, a complete stranger—Jim would have thrown his arms around him and held on tight. But he couldn't do that with Spock, who projected such an aura of pride that the most Jim felt permitted to do was stand nearby and look sympathetic.

Jim flashed him a worried look while he contacted Starfleet via a comm link with the Enterprise.

A bureaucrat told him to contact the local authorities. When Jim informed him of T'San's accusation of police corruption, the man said Starfleet would open an investigation after the local authorities had processed the arrests and the murders. Jim snorted and terminated the connection.

Spock asked permission to beam back to the ship. Jim let him go without protest; personally, he stayed until the bodies were carried away and the smugglers were cuffed—temporarily, Jim figured. He raised his voice and generally demanded justice.

"What more do you want?" an officer asked, nonplussed. The Mycrovian officer gestured toward the four smugglers, two of whom sported several bruises and were still bleeding in spots.

Jim was torn between accusing the officer of merely putting on a show with the arrest, but in the end he sighed and, for once, decided to let Starfleet sort it out.

The smugglers weren't his real problem, anyway. All he wanted to do was find Spock.

When he and Bones finally beamed back to the Enterprise, he found himself being strong-armed over to Sickbay.

"Bones, I'm fine. Really. I've gotta go find Spock."

"Jim, you've got a gash the size of Texas on your forehead, and your shirt's torn to shreds. You're not going anywhere until I manage to get you looking less ridiculous."

"Huh?" Jim took stock of his appearance. He _was_ bleeding, and his head _did_ hurt, and his shirt could not have looked more like he'd been ravished by six horny Mycrovian females if he _had_ been ravished by six horny Mycrovian females. He'd never forget an orgy, so he supposed the damage must have happened during the fight, somehow. "Oh. Right. Maybe I'll just get a fresh change of clothes."

Bones gave him three hypos, two full-body scans, and seven scowls before he allowed him anywhere near a clean uniform. It was a dirty trick, and he said so, but Bones wouldn't hurry things along no matter how much Jim complained.

Finally, Bones handed him a golden shirt that a yeoman had fetched, and Jim yanked it over his head. It had been an hour and a half since he'd seen Spock, and he nearly crashed into Nurse Chapel in his haste to leave.

She was carrying a meal tray with a bowl of steaming, unidentifiable soup. "Excuse me, Nurse. Didn't see you there." He looked meaningfully at the tray. "You're not trying that again, are you?" Jim asked. She was taking her crush just a little too far, in his opinion.

But Chapel didn't seem upset at the suggestion. "Actually, Captain, Mr. Spock asked me to make him the plomeek soup this time. I think he must have felt guilty for being in such a bad mood earlier. I was just on my way to his quarters."

"I'll take it. I need to talk to him."

"But, Captain . . ."

"I'll make sure he eats, Nurse. Thanks." Jim watched her struggle for a few moments. She reluctantly gave him the tray.

Bones had an exasperated look on his face. "What?" Jim asked.

"Just don't come crying to me when he throws that in your face, okay?"

Jim ignored him.

He knocked on Spock's door but didn't get a response. Balancing the tray on one arm, he entered his override codes and entered the room.

A wave of heat hit him; he'd never gotten used to the Vulcan's preferred room temperature, but this time it seemed hotter than usual.

The sound of retching was coming from the bathroom. Alarmed, Jim abandoned the tray on the desk and rushed across the small space to the open door.

He paused in the doorway and saw Spock leaning over the toilet, doing a great impression of what Jim had expected to be doing at about this time during shore leave. Again he had that moment of indecision where he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold Spock, but at the same time he knew this was _Spock_. Hugging was not in the Vulcan's social repertoire.

Instead, he cleared his throat and leaned against the doorframe. "You okay?"

Spock took a few deep breaths and, as if he wanted to prevent throwing up again, spoke very carefully. "I will recover."

"That means you're not okay right now, so we need to get you to Sickbay."

"That is not necessary."

"Come on. Bones is waiting." Jim reached out and grabbed Spock's arm, to help him stand, but Spock did not budge. Jim realized that there was no way he could drag a strong Vulcan away from a toilet against his will. The only method that could work was reason, so he let his hand drop. "You're sick, Spock."

"Doctor McCoy is unable to aid me."

"Sure he can. He can help anyone. At least let him try."

"I am not suffering from a physical ailment. The trauma is purely psychological."

"Bones should still see—"

"Jim, please."

The plea was quiet and desperate, and Jim wasn't sure he heard it since Spock was facing away from him. He crouched beside Spock and steadied himself by placing one arm on the counter. "Alright. No McCoy—for now. Just tell me what you mean by psychological trauma. You're not really the type to . . . you know. Break down like this."

Spock was silent for so long that Jim thought he wasn't going to get an answer. He was about to sigh and stand up when Spock spoke. "It is a reaction to the loss of the bond. Such an event is often accompanied by nausea and mental pain."

"You have a headache?"

"I have . . . confusion. My mental barriers . . . against emotions . . . ."

Jim guessed the sudden inability to finish sentences was more from shame than anything else. He was not sure how to handle the confession that Spock was emotionally overwhelmed, so he just put his hand on Spock's arm and waited.

That seemed to be the right thing to do because after a moment, Spock continued. "My shields are down, and they are difficult to replace without meditation. But I feel too ill to meditate."

Jim squeezed Spock's arm in sympathy.

"T'San . . . it is a strange sensation. It is as if he is missing from my mind. Of course, he _is_ missing. It is . . . painful."

Jim decided to be brave. Bold. To take a chance. He didn't dare hug Spock, but he raised his hand to the nape of Spock's neck and lightly brushed the shiny black hair. His fingertips grazed Spock's skin; he was hotter than anticipated. Jim expected warmth, but not this feverish heat.

Suddenly Spock shuddered and leaned forward over the toilet, retching again. Jim moved with him, thankful at least that by this point, it was just dry heaves. He tried to make his caress as comforting as possible as the Vulcan shook beneath him.

"Stop," Spock said between gagging.

Jim jerked his hand back like it'd been burned. With the residual heat from the Vulcan's skin, it almost felt like it, too. He moved away from Spock and leaned against his back against the bathroom wall.

Spock stopped shuddering almost immediately. After a few shaky breaths, he looked over his shoulder, as if to see where Jim had gone. It was the first time that Jim had made eye contact with him during that conversation, and Jim was shocked to see the naked desperation in Spock's dark eyes.

Spock flushed the toilet and unsteadily leaned back against the wall, sitting near Jim but not touching him. Realizing that Spock was keeping his distance made Jim feel mortified. His bold move had been a terrible idea.

"Under other circumstances," Spock said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the cool metal wall, "your touch would be more than welcome."

Jim turned to look at Spock, whose face was shockingly green in the harsh light.

"I cannot block your mind from mine," Spock explained, as if he knew Jim was trying to figure out what 'other circumstances' meant. "Your thoughts are . . . ."

"Nauseating?" Jim asked, hoping against hope that he sounded lighthearted.

Spock didn't smile, but the skin around his eyes crinkled just the slightest bit. "Overwhelming," he replied.

"Sorry."

"There is no need for an apology, Jim."

"Sorry, anyway." A silence settled between them. "Can I ask you a question?"

"In addition to that question? Certainly."

Jim allowed himself to relax. At least Spock wasn't too upset to criticize him. "Did you really love him?"

"I did not. As you said, Captain, I had known him merely eighteen point two seven hours."

"Oh." Jim bit his lip. "I didn't mean to be so . . . rude, planetside. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I was not upset."

"Right."

"Nevertheless, once bonded with T'San, our minds were intertwined to a great extent, which affected my feelings toward him. I am given to understand that this is a common occurrence, but his being such an emotional species exacerbated the problem."

_Emotional transference_, Jim thought, but he said, "I don't think that's really a problem. Just a pleasant side effect."

"To a Human or a Mycrovian, perhaps. For me, it is a problem."

"You said you were satisfied with the arrangement."

"I did not say that the arrangement was ideal."

Jim felt silence descending on them again. Perhaps Spock preferred it that way, but Jim didn't want to leave it at that. "Can I ask you another question?"

"If you wish."

"It's about this bondmate-Pon Farr thing. I know you don't like to talk about it, but . . . ."

"You may ask whatever you like."

Jim decided not to point out that Spock hadn't promised to answer. There was probably some infinitesimal chance that Spock was too upset to notice the distinction.

"So, you're gonna need to do this again in seven years? Find a new bondmate, get a new bond, everything? Or else?"

"Presumably. With my unique physiology, there is no certainty regarding the term of the cycle. Seven years is common for a full-blooded Vulcan, but my own may be more or less."

Jim stifled a surprising surge of panic. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Yes."

Spock _almost_ smiled. Jim could tell that the Vulcan was using all this concentration to prevent his facial muscles from moving. Jim would have been pleased with himself if he wasn't so worried.

"You just said you're not sure when the deadline is. Shouldn't you ask Uhura again? Maybe explain the situation? Agree to take it slow?"

"I no longer desire a bond with Nyota."

"Because she didn't want to marry you this week? It's kind of a big deal for human women. Maybe you just didn't ask her right, or . . . ."

"I believe my romantic relationship with Nyota is beyond repair."

Spock sounded so unhappy that Jim decided to back off. He had plenty of time to deal with Spock's Imminent Demise, Round Two. If they would even be working together seven years from now. He ordered his brain not to think about that. "I'm sorry."

Thankfully, Spock either decided to ignore the unnecessary apology or to accept it as the expression of compassion that it was. In other words, he didn't reply.

Jim cleared his throat. "You've got to be pretty tired. I should go."

A Human would have politely denied the accusation and pretended that he wanted Jim to stay. But Spock was not Human, so he opened his eyes and said, "Yes. I must bathe and rest. I find it difficult to meditate when I am not alone."

"Yeah, yeah. No problem," Jim stammered, climbing to his feet. "I didn't mean to keep you from all that."

He held out his hand to help Spock to his feet, but Spock merely looked at him for an uncomfortable moment. Jim let his hand drop. "Right, no touching. You'll be okay, then?"

Spock nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, um, I brought you soup. On your desk."

Spock blinked. "Thank you, Jim."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **

Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did.

Warnings: Slash. Obviously.

Genre: Romance/Humor/Hurt-Comfort

* * *

**Certain Advantages**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

The crew still had one night and one day left of shore leave. Jim's vacation was unsalvageable, so he rejoined the skeleton crew that remained on the Enterprise while their colleagues partied. Jim had arranged it so everyone got a chance to go planetside, but some volunteers (including Uhura) and a few unlucky folks had gotten assigned to, at most, one shift during the two days and two nights of leave.

The empty ship made Jim restless. He ate a brief, tasteless meal alone, then wandered to the bridge. He sat in his captain's chair for a solid twenty minutes while he thought about T'San and Spock. The memory of T'San's death shook him—all unnecessary deaths under his watch distressed him—but not as much as his memory of Spock's pained expression at the sight of T'San's corpse, and certainly not as much as his more recent memory of Spock's psychological trauma.

These thoughts made Jim angry. Finally, he turned abruptly to Uhura and asked to be connected to the Mycrovian police headquarters.

The news? The killers had already been released. One of them, an officer, was back on the force.

The explanation? The killer had been working undercover. Jim might have believed it if Spock hadn't had a direct pipeline into T'San's mind. The truth was, the police were covering their tracks, and T'San's killers—the men who had hurt Spock—were going to get off scot free.

But not if James Tiberius Kirk had anything to say about it.

He was going to Do Something.

His righteous anger gave him a balloon of energy that his communications officer instantly deflated. Uhura pounced on him as he rounded a corner, her hands on her hips and her glare fixing him in place. "Captain, we need to have a discussion."

Jim looked right and left, but the few people who _were_ in the hallway scurried away from the confrontation. "Lieutenant." He smiled out of habit, even though he knew it wouldn't work on her.

Seeing that he wasn't running away, Uhura's manner softened. "Is Spock alright?"

"Spock? Yeah, yeah. He's good. Never been better."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not."

"Your smile doesn't reach your eyes when you're lying. What's wrong with him?"

Jim dropped the fake smile. He'd have to practice deception if he was going to survive diplomatic missions. "Okay. He'll _be_ alright, but here's what happened."

Jim tried to give her a brief version of the events on the planet. He only got so far as "bondmate" and "Tattoo Guy" before they moved to a more private setting, a conference room deserted now that most of the crew were gone. He had to slow down a lot when he got to "Pon Farr" and "certain death" to hand Uhura a tissue. He ordered a passing ensign to bring some synthahol.

"He should have told me," Uhura said. She sat as stiffly as her ex would have, her head held proudly high even though she was fighting back tears. Jim shook his head in wonder at how they hadn't worked out; they'd always seemed made for each other.

"He said he didn't want to shackle you for life when there was another option."

She sniffed. "I wouldn't have _cared_, if I knew the truth."

"_He_ cared," Jim said, downing his drink in one gulp. "I guess that's all he considered. He did the math and didn't want to feel guilty." He caught Uhura's raised eyebrow—more evidence that she'd picked up Spock's mannerisms—and amended, "Even if he wouldn't admit to feeling guilty. I think he did. I mean, he'd have to, to do what he did instead."

Uhura wiped away the fresh tears. "Poor Spock. After Narada, after everything, he had to lose another bondmate. I hate that he went through it again."

Jims thoughts, which had been racing ahead to how he was going to yell at every police officer and drug smuggler on Mycroft VII before he was satisfied, screeched to a halt.

"Wait. What?"

Uhura gave him a sad look. "The pain he's in now would have to be worse than before."

"You said 'other bondmate.'"

Uhura's confused expression immediately became an embarrassed one. "I'm sorry. I thought he would have told you. You said he told you '_all about_' bondmates. I thought you meant . . . ."

"What? What didn't he tell me? He had a . . . on Vulcan? His bondmate died on Vulcan?"

"A betrothed. Her name was T'Pring. The bond between fiancés isn't as strong, but he was still . . . in pain." She gave him a curious look. "Don't feel bad; he didn't tell me about her, either. Until she died and he was throwing up in the bathroom, that is."

Jim let that sink in. He supposed it hadn't been relevant to the conversation he'd had with Spock, but he would have liked to have been told. Then the information sank in so far that it hit bottom. "Wait, he was engaged to someone else when he was dating you?"

Uhura gave him a tight, unhappy smile. "Yes."

"Why?"

She studied her drink. "He said it wasn't relevant, that he was planning to cancel the engagement when he was certain we were permanently compatible."

"That's . . . not very romantic."

"Not exactly what every girl dreams of hearing, no, but that's Spock. We were never really the same after that. He'd basically told me that even though we had been together for eleven months, he wasn't sure if we'd make it in the long run. He felt better with a contingency plan. A few days ago, when he suggested we get married, I thought he was making a huge mistake. We hadn't been doing that great, Jim."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't meant to be. There's no reason to be sorry about it."

"But now that you know the truth, maybe you can take him back?"

"Absolutely not."

"You said you'd have agreed to it if you'd known, right?"

"I said he should have told me. I'd only bond with him as a last resort, and only to save his life."

"Well, tell him that. Maybe you can work out an arrangement where he's not going to have to hook up with some random alien to stop from dying."

Uhura leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Jim, I'd rather he go to a stranger than to me. I'd be his absolute _last_ resort."

Jim frowned. "That's not what I expected you to say, to be honest."

"I'm sorry, Jim, but obviously Spock feels the same way, too."

"I guess. But you wouldn't let him die, right?"

She gave him a genuine smile, which surprised him. "No, I wouldn't let him die. But I'm sure he'll be able to find someone else in time."

"I hope so."

"Me too. Bye, Jim."

* * *

Jim spent a good, long time sitting in the empty lab before he remembered that he had a Plan.

He marched back to Spock's room and walked right in, not bothering to announce his presence with a chime or a knock. Spock was seating on the floor, eyes closed in deep meditation.

"Spock, I'm going planetside. You coming?"

He had to repeat himself three times and shake Spock's shoulder to bring him back to consciousness. When Spock finally opened his eyes, Jim repeated his request.

"Vulcans do not require vacations as you understand them, Captain, as I have explained previously. Instead, I am resting in order to recover from today's events."

"No, I meant, I'm going planetside to be a pain in the Mycrovian Police Department's ass. They let their crooked cop back on the force and the others are out on bond. How bad do you need to rest? 'Cause I can wait for you if you want to be there."

Spock regarded him with his dark eyes. Jim could read some kind of emotion there, but identifying it was another story. "Starfleet has ordered you to wait until an official investigation has begun. What do you expect to accomplish by your proposed course of action?"

"Justice." Jim shrugged, deflating a little in the face of Spock's indifference. "We can dig up something else that will make Starfleet realize they should either hurry it up or give us the investigation."

"I cannot support your decision, Captain. Your reasoning is illogical and based entirely on emotion."

"You're telling me I'm emotionally compromised?" Spock raised an eyebrow. "So what if I am? So are you. Let's go."

The spark in Spock's eyes shone brighter with whatever emotion Spock was trying to suppress. "I have rested sufficiently to accompany you."

Jim grinned as Spock rose to his feet in one fluid, graceful motion.

Spock pulled a blue tunic out of his drawer to wear over his black thermal undershirt. Jim cleared his throat. "Spock, I want to talk to you about something."

Spock looked at him expectantly as he dressed.

"I've been thinking. Um. We should have a back-up plan, in case we're in the middle of nowhere and your Pon Farr cycle starts earlier than expected, and there aren't any planets full of willing sexual telepaths nearby."

"What do you suggest, Jim?"

Spock's face had gone blank, which pained Jim, but he pressed on. "You should have someone lined up who knows what's going on, and what's at stake, and who's willing to bond with you."

"I would not like to force a permanent bond with any person."

"But they'd be willing."

"Many humans would make such a decision based on their emotions. They would feel obligated to agree to the arrangement out of guilt. I would not find such an arrangement suitable."

"But T'San was okay?"

"T'San deemed bonding with a Vulcan a sexual thrill. I suspected Mycrovian culture would make the arrangement mutually beneficial, and I was correct. Most humans would feel as if it were an invasion of privacy."

"I wouldn't," Jim told him seriously.

Spock's dark eyes flitted across his face, as if Spock were trying to read his mind from a distance. "Are you offering?"

_Don't babble_, Jim told himself. "Yes," he said, trying to sound confident.

Spock regarded him for an impossible stretch of time, his face as blank as it had ever been.

Finally Jim broke eye contact. Time to babble. "Just say 'okay,' alright? You don't want to be with Uhura, and she doesn't want to be with you, and you don't want to tie anyone else down. I get that. But I wouldn't do it out of guilt—you've got to see that." He shrugged, embarrassed at the flood of words. "It just makes sense."

Spock shook his head. "I am sorry, Jim, but I will not bond with you."

Jim couldn't believe it. "Just as a last resort."

"No, Jim. Not even then."

Jim swallowed. "Uhura, then. I spoke with her. She said it'd only be okay if there was no other way."

Spock nodded. "Nyota would be acceptable. If you believe that it is best to have a 'back-up plan,' then I will speak with her concerning the matter."

"Good. Good." Jim managed an uneasy smile, like that was okay. Because it _was _okay, he thought; Spock staying alive was what he wanted. "At least you've got someone. Just in case. Come on, let's get to the Transporter Room. We've got a police chief to piss off."

"Not to mention a Starfleet Admiral to displease."

"Who, Pike? We can take him."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is the last chapter! Thank you to everyone who reviewed or put me on your alerts or favorites list! My lack of updating the past couples weeks are all law school's fault. Boo, law school.

Summary: Spock presents unexpected competition for Kirk during shore leave. Kirk thinks that's hot. Kirk/Spock Pre-Slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did.

Warnings: Slash. Obviously.

Genre: Romance/Humor/Hurt-Comfort

* * *

**Certain Advantages**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"Energize."

Kirk saw a flash of spinning gold lines, and suddenly he was back on Mycroft VII. The warm breeze against his face would have been pleasant if he'd cared. Spock stood at attention next to him, scanning the crowds that were mulling about in the early-evening bustle.

A few people looked their way curiously. "The police headquarters are nearby."

Confused, Kirk looked from Spock to a couple of people who looked helpfully informative. "Oh, right. Telepathy. Lead the way."

The police had confiscated their psi-blockers after the shootings, so Jim tried to keep his mind blank as he followed Spock to the station. The problem with a planet full of telepaths was that bluffing didn't work. It took a considerable number of carefully-worded threats to get in to see Police Chief T'Brun. He was a reflection of the portly, unattractive underbelly of Mycrovian society.

Jim laid out what he knew from piecing together the events with Spock: the killing shot had come from the leader, a cop. The other three were nothing, just medium-ranking members of the cartel.

According to the chief, the cop's name was D'Ral, and it was none of Starfleet's damn business that he was back on duty.

"Starfleet is interested in drug smuggling," Jim said. "And they're interested in authorities who let it happen."

And as for the killings themselves?

"T'San and D'Sul were committing a felony," the Chief told them. "You don't have any evidence that this was anything other than a planned drug bust that ended up messier than expected."

"Like hell it was."

"You psi-nulls are all the same. You think our officers could get away with running a cartel? Everyone would know in an instant."

"That's what psi-blockers are for."

"My officers use psi-blockers only for official business."

"Funny how you can't prove that."

"Good day, Captain. Enjoy your stay on Mycroft VII."

After that cold reception, Jim and Spock were left with little left to do. "So now what?" Jim asked.

They were standing outside the station, watching people streaming in and out of yet another club. There were more tourists in this area, and the only Mycrovians he saw were employees: shopkeepers, bouncers, police.

"Whatever we do, it's probably not gonna be in the tourism district," Jim muttered.

"Indeed, Captain. I recommend we find D'Sul's employer."

"His what?"

"The leader of his smuggling ring," Spock clarified.

"You know where he is?"

"Yes. T'San provided the information to me."

Apparently, D'Sul worked for a lady—and Jim used the term loosely—named Therin. She was holed up in an otherwise normal-looking restaurant in a part of the city where tourists were uncommon. There were a few occupied tables at the diner, but Spock and Jim were the only non-Mycrovians within several blocks. The wait staff and customers all looked up as they entered, and Jim tried his best to smile like he was right where he wanted to be.

The host approached them. "Welcome, gentlemen. A table for two?" He didn't sound very welcoming.

"Actually, we're looking for Therin."

More stares.

The host dropped his slight smile and nodded. "Follow me."

Of course she was in the back room. That's where criminal types always were. Jim was surprised by her looks, however; she might have been middle-aged, but she was gorgeous. Her black hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and her red dress hugged her form in all the right places. A tattoo wound its way from below her right ear to between her breasts. He ordered his eyes to stay locked on her face, and not an inch lower than her nose. She waved a hand, indicating that they should join her at the table.

"Ma'am," Jim said as he and Spock sat.

"So you're the Starfleet officers I've heard so much about," she said. Jim noticed, as she turned her head, that she wore a psi-blocker. He wondered if she had provided the ones he'd worn earlier.

"Captain Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, ma'am. And this is my First Officer, Spock."

"A pleasure. We don't get too many Starfleet types in here."

"I'm guessing you already know why we're here."

"Well, you _were_ broadcasting it all over town."

"Yeah. We can't really help that."

She lifted a hand toward a man standing behind her chair. He placed two psi-blockers on the table. "Well, now you can. Wait until you're out of here to put them on. I want to know that you're trustworthy."

Jim and Spock each put a psi-blocker in their pockets.

"And what do you want from us in return?"

She smiled. "We find ourselves in a situation where our interests are perfectly aligned. Our suppliers are trying to root us out. They think operating vertical monopoly will cut their costs. Recently the police force has decided to side with our suppliers over us because they think we're a riskier bet. They don't want to lose out on their cut, naturally. _You_ want the police to arrest poor T'San and D'Sul's killers, one of whom is a member of the police. If you get me proof, I can get the few loyal officers left on the force to cooperate with your wishes and mine."

"You expect us to help you? What's to stop us from turning you all over to Starfleet?"

She looked amused. "And how is that investigation going, Captain? Last I heard, it was stifled by your bureaucracy. Some petty smugglers aren't very high on their priorities list, and that's why you're here. And as for your concern about helping criminals, nothing you do today will change the balance of crime and justice on this planet. At the end of the day, the police will still be taking a percentage from a cartel in exchange for looking the other way. The identity of the winning organization will be the only thing to change. In fact, your actions will prevent most of my cartel from being picked off one by one by our competition. They'll be scared off by the police and media attention, so we won't have to kill any of them. And in return, I promise you an arrest and a jail term for the killers."

Spock turned to Jim. "On balance, Captain, it seems that more justice will be done by helping Therin than leaving the matter to Starfleet."

"The ends justify the means, Mr. Spock?"

"In this case, it is a choice between means: cooperating with a cartel or sitting idle, waiting for Starfleet to conduct an investigation that may never occur. Neither is particularly noble, but the former is more effective."

"How do we know you're telling the truth, Therin?"

She shrugged and slipped the psi-blocker out of her ear. She extended a hand to Spock. "Your Vulcan should be able to tell."

Spock reached out, but he avoided touching her hands; instead, he laid a finger on her wrist. Both were silent for a moment, then Spock withdrew. "She is not being deceptive, Captain."

"All right then. Therin, you've got yourself a deal."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now here's what I need from you."

* * *

Proof. That's what they needed to find her. Something to show Therin's loyal policemen, who could then use that evidence to create media pressure on the rest of the force. And if that evidence came from Starfleet officers, not some anonymous tipster who everyone knew was from Therin's cartel, so much the better. Therin got her power, and Jim got his revenge.

That's what they were doing in an alley, Jim on all fours and Spock standing on Jim's back while he took pictures through a small, high window. Presumably, inside were pictures of the supply cartel sorting vials of cordrazine. Normally, distributing the cordrazine was Therin's job, but not anymore.

"You finished up there, Spock? You're getting kinda heavy."

"As we discussed, Captain, it is more logical for me to support your weight, given my denser muscle mass and superior strength."

"I was trying to be chivalrous," Jim grunted.

"Illogical."

He sighed in relief when Spock finally hopped to the ground. His lower back hurt when he tried to stand, though. "Can I get a hand up?"

Spock hesitated for the smallest fraction of a second before extending his hand. Jim grasped it and stood up, wincing as he moved. Spock's hand was warm, almost hot, and Jim briefly considered not letting go until he remembered that Spock didn't like being touched. Jim let go.

"Did you get a shot of the cop?" Jim asked.

"Yes. We should return the evidence to Therin immediately."

"Good call. Let's—shit." Jim had turned around, only to see the entrance to the alley blocked by two Mycrovians with four average people's muscle mass between them. Jim's back was to a dead end. Had they seen Spock through the window? Been tipped off by a mole in Therin's ranks? By Therin herself? Jim supposed it didn't matter.

Spock had already drawn his phaser, and Jim followed suit a second later. Spock stepped protectively in front of him, too quick for Jim to protest.

There wasn't time for any witty repartee; the thugs started shooting. Jim rolled behind a crate and fired his phaser. One of the men's shots hit the crate, just a foot from Jim's hand, and the material caught on fire. Jim didn't recognize the type of weapon, but he would bet his comfy captain's chair that it wasn't legal.

Spock had dodged in the opposite direction. He was having marginally more success in hitting their assailants; Jim saw one of the men fall after being stunned. Three more attackers appeared after the one fell, though. In fact, there was a whole warehouse full of armed smugglers to contend with, if it came to that.

Jim's crate was now mostly on fire, and he knew it wasn't going to be effective cover for long. So he rolled across the alley, thinking he would join Spock on the other side. It mostly worked—his movement drew a lot of fire, and he was two-thirds of the way there before he felt a searing pain in his right thigh. He grunted and landed next to Spock, who caught him and dragged him further behind their cover.

Spock turned his attention back to the attackers as soon as he assured himself that Jim was not fatally wounded. "Enterprise," he said into his comm, "two to beam up."

Jim waited for the swirly gold safety of the transporter, but nothing happened. "Maybe they're busy?"

"I do not know."

Something landed in front of Jim. He looked down at a small, round, metal device. He had only half a second to think, _hey look, a grenade_, before all he could see was a blindingly white light.

* * *

When Jim opened his eyes, he was lying on his side, his hands bound behind his back. There was something hot behind him. When that something shifted, he realized that it must be Spock. "Ouch," he said, to test the theory.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

He took stock of his situation. He didn't seem to be blown to pieces, although his right thigh was bleeding from being shot earlier. It looked like a laser burn, which should have cauterized the wound. The bleeding wasn't severe, though, so Jim guessed that the wound had been torn open again when his captors had dragged him here and tied him up. He twisted his arms, trying to see if there was any give in the ropes. There wasn't, but he discovered that his hands were bound to Spock's, whose back was facing his.

"I'm okay. My leg's hurting, but I'm not losing that much blood."

"I am uninjured. I believe they hit us with a flash grenade, which knocked us unconscious. They have taken my psi-blocker, and I surmise that yours is gone as well. I also do not have my communicator or phaser."

Jim looked down. "Me neither."

"I feel weak; I believe they must have drugged me to compensate for my relative strength."

"Shit. Are you sure you're okay? What if it's some slow-acting poison or something?"

"I shall monitor any changing effects. However, I feel myself slowly growing stronger, not weaker. I do not believe I am in any danger other than our shared predicament."

"Why didn't the transporter get us in time?"

"Unknown. Perhaps there is a communicator blocker nearby. More likely, the crew was suffering from a lack of personnel during leave, and the ensign assigned to the transporter room was temporarily occupied elsewhere."

"Why're we still alive? Where are we?"

"I cannot ascertain our location. I imagine, though, that we are simply inside the warehouse. As for our not being dead, I assume it is because they were not certain that killing us was the most profitable course of action."

Jim thought about that. "So what, we're hostages?"

"It is a possibility."

"We've gotta get out of here. We can't wait for a rescue party. There's no guarantee the Enterprise got our message, and even if they did, they might not be able to pick up our bio-signs."

"I agree."

"Good. Are your feet tied up?"

"They are not."

"Awesome, neither are mine. We can sit up, then push against each other's backs to try to stand up." Jim paused. "Unless you're strong enough just to break the ropes."

"Unfortunately, I am not. I cannot ascertain what material we are bound with, but it is beyond my current strength to break them."

"S'ok. Just wishful thinking. So the standing thing?"

"We should make the attempt."

Sitting up was awkward, but they managed it. Jim leaned against Spock's back to rest. "Okay. Standing time."

Jim felt Spock push against his back, and he tried to do the same. They managed to get a couple feet from the ground, but the pressure on his right leg was just too much. He slipped to the ground, taking Spock with him. Jim wound up staring at the ceiling with Spock underneath him.

"This is definitely a step backward," Jim complained. He winced as Spock rolled over so that they were back on their sides.

"Agreed." Spock didn't squirm—because Vulcans don't squirm—but he did shift a little to get more comfortable. "Your leg is worse than you originally expressed."

"Yeah, putting pressure on it is kinda painful. Just give me a couple minutes to recover." Jim sighed and let his head fall toward the floor. Neither man moved to get up. Idly, Jim wondered if they were going to die today. If they were, there was something he needed to know.

"Say, Spock?" Jim asked after a while.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I was wondering something. You, uh, you don't have to answer if you don't want." Jim craned his neck in an attempt to see Spock's reaction, but all he could see was a little bit of the Vulcan's shoulder. He cleared his throat. "Why not me? What's wrong with having me as a bondmate? It's just supposed to be a last resort, anyway, and since you are Uhura are on the rocks I figured I'd at least be a _tiny_ step above her?"

He said the last part as a question, and he didn't care if he sounded vulnerable. Spock wouldn't kick him when he was down.

"I do not wish to answer."

Okay, maybe he _would_ kick him, just a little bit. "Oh, come _on_. You're such a chicken."

"I bear no resemblance to a Terran domestic fowl, and you permitted me to remain silent. If you had desired an answer so strongly, you should not have made the concession."

"I was just curious," Jim grumbled. He struggled against the ties, again making no headway. The material only tightened, cutting into his skin, and he cursed. "I'm really that bad of a choice? So bad you don't even want to tell me why? So bad you're worried you'd hurt my feelings?"

"I am not worried."

"'Course not. My mistake. Help me sit up—my shoulder's killing me. It got bruised when we fell."

Spock was strong enough to drag Jim upright along with him, without Jim's help. They leaned against each other's backs in the center of the room. What followed was not what Jim would call a companionable silence, so he broke it.

"You _don't_ care about hurting my feelings, do you? Bones is right, you really are a bastard."

"We should attempt an escape again, Captain, before the smugglers return. Your safety is more important than the state of your emotions."

"Nuh-uh. I'm not going anywhere until you give me a straight answer."

"That is irrational, Captain. The longer we delay, the more likely we are to die."

"You want to live? Then talk."

Jim could almost hear Spock's eyebrow raise. "I am concerned about the consequences of your death."

"Fine. Being an altruist doesn't get you out of this. If you want _me_ to live, then answer the question."

"That _is_ my answer, Captain."

Jim turned his head in a futile attempt to see Spock better. "Come again?"

Spock's next words were so soft that Jim had to strain to hear them. "I could not bear your death even if we were not bonded. If we were, I fear I would not survive losing you."

"Oh." Well. Jim wished he could smack himself in the forehead; instead, he just cursed silently. Spock had lost too many people lately; of course he wouldn't want to be bonded with someone who made a habit of nearly dying once a week.

This time it was Spock who could not bear the silence. "T'San was a stranger. You are my brother, Jim."

"And T'Pring, she was a stranger, too?"

A pause. "Nyota told you about T'Pring, I assume."

"Yeah."

"Yes, she was a stranger, or nearly so, and our bond as betrotheds was relatively weak. To bond with you—I do not wish to experience the breaking of a bond with you. Is my answer satisfactory, Captain? I would rather neither of us die today, and we are growing short on time."

"Ye—yeah. Carry on, Mr. Spock."

"I suggest that we attempt to stand again. This time, I will support the weight of your injured leg. Use only your left leg for standing, and the injured leg only for balance."

"Right. Heave ho."

Spock pulled through for them. Soon they were standing back to back. Of course, then they had the problem of getting out of the cell. Jim didn't want to admit to not having a plan, so he and Spock managed a three-legged hobble over to the door. When he peered through the small window, he grinned at what he saw. It was Sulu, about to burn through the lock with his phaser. Two Mycrovian guards lay on the floor, stunned, and two Starfleet ensigns were guarding the hall entrance. Sulu noticed his captain in the window and saluted.

"Well, Mr. Spock, it looks like we're rescued."

* * *

Jim fell into the chair and grabbed the bottle of Saurian brandy. He didn't need a glass. It was a testament to how terrible he looked that Bones didn't try to stop him. He filled Bones in on the events of that day. They'd managed to get the pictures from Spock's tri-corder to Therin, who in turn promised to live up to her end of the deal. They were keeping tabs on her until then.

"You helped those rotten drug smugglers, Jim?"

"Hey, Spock said it was logical. Besides, he suggested that we keep the Starfleet investigation request open. It's not like we made the planet any worse off. And we didn't promise not to turn her in later."

"Oh, well if _Spock_ says it's the logical thing to do, he must be right."

Jim frowned. "He usually is."

Bones rolled his eyes, but he just poured himself a glass and handed the bottle back to Jim.

"Bones?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"I think that maybe there's a teeny, tiny, infinitesimal chance that maybe, um . . . ."

"Dammit, Jim. Spit it out already."

". . . I think I might be falling for Spock."

"Falling."

"As in 'head over heels.'"

"For Spock."

"Yep."

"The Vulcan."

"That's the one."

"I thought we went over this. Nothing good's gonna come from that."

"Maybe."

"No maybes about it."

"But he's so . . . ." Jim shrugged.

"So what? Hot? Unavailable? Not yet conquered by the great James T. Kirk?"

"I was going to say 'good.' He's a good person. He's sweet. He's vulnerable. And yeah, he's hot. He's gorgeous. Anyone can see that."

"Now I'm not going to pretend I haven't read his psych evals, and hell, I _did_ yours. So I'm gonna tell you this: He's not some baby bird you can tend back to health, and neither are you. But he's also not someone you want to lead on. One of you would end up hurt, so you should just back off before that happens."

"It's not going to be like that. I don't think he's interested, anyway."

Bones narrowed his eyes. "Jim, as far as Spock's concerned, you're the rising and the goddamn setting sun. He'd do anything you asked him."

Jim snorted and drank a little too much brandy in one gulp. "He's got a funny way of showing it."

"Fine, so he has to get a logical explanation from you first. He enjoys being a bastard. But he'd follow you anywhere. My point is, you could hurt him. Bad. And you're a decent guy, so hurting him would hurt _you_. The bottom line is you'd better be able to say you're all in before you make a move. None of this 'maybe an infinitesimal chance' crap. Now drink up and get to bed. And tomorrow, you're gonna pretend everything's back to normal."

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

He didn't drink; he just returned the bottle to Bones and stood up.

"Jim." He paused at the door, turning to look back at Bones. "You ever get your head on straight and figure out what you want . . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Then it probably wouldn't be that bad. He might even be good for you."

"Thanks, Bones."

Jim didn't go to bed. He meant to, and he even started kicking off his boots, but then he spotted the chess board on the table. He and Spock hadn't played for a couple weeks. He grinned, gathered up the board and game pieces, and was knocking on Spock's door a few minutes later.

Spock greeted him with a raised eyebrow.

"So I know you're probably tired, but how about a game before you meditate?"

Spock nodded and stepped aside so that Jim could enter. "That would be agreeable."

"Great. You can play white."

Spock won. Things were back to normal, and in Jim's book, that was a good start.

END


End file.
